Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
RIOS
I tipped my phone like I was checking the time, but I was really looking to see if I’d gotten another text from Madden.
Nothing.
Just the one she’d sent a couple of hours ago, still sitting there like it hadn’t decided what it was yet.
Madden:
Swing by on your way back from hanging with Ford and Sawyer. I’ve got something to show you. Not an emergency.
I’d almost left right then.
But she’d said it wasn’t an emergency, and I was supposed to be here—supposed to be doing something normal, letting my brain stand down for a while.
So I’d stayed. Had another beer. Let Sawyer run his mouth.
Let Ford argue about wedding logistics like that was the most important problem in the world.
The niggle hadn’t gone away. It rode in the back of my skull, persistent as a bad tooth. I told myself the compulsive checking of my phone was habit. I’d hardly had the kind of downtime as a civilian for my nervous system to figure out how the fuck to do quiet yet.
Still.
When headlights swept across the living room wall and a car pulled up outside, I looked up automatically.
Peyton came in a minute later with Keeley at her heels, tail wagging like a metronome of joy, as if she hadn’t just spent the last several hours with her favorite human. Mimi’s car was already pulling away.
“Hey,” Peyton dropped her bag and bending to hug the dog. “Did I miss anything?”
“Just Sawyer being wrong about everything,” Ford said.
Sawyer scoffed. “Objectively false.”
I stood before I could get pulled into another round of banter. “I’m gonna head out. Early start.”
Ford frowned. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” I moved toward the door. “Peyton, good to see you again.”
Sawyer stood as well and stretched. “I should get home to my wife before she decides to bring home more than one more dog.”
Peyton brightened. “Y’all are getting a new dog?”
“A foster,” Sawyer corrected.
Because I knew he’d get sucked in by her enthusiasm, I kept moving. Ford caught me at the door. “Text if you need backup.”
I nodded. “Will do. Thanks, brother.”
Outside, the air was finally cooler, the day’s heat loosening its grip now that night had settled in for real. July nights on Hatterwick were like that—heavy but quieter, the island exhaling after squeezing everything it could out of daylight.
Most of town had gone dark. A few pockets of light still glowed toward the boardwalk and downtown, but the marina was usually subdued at this hour. Boats rocked gently in their slips, lines creaking, the water slapping soft and lazy against hulls.
I drove with my phone sitting in the console where I’d notice any new incoming messages.
Nothing.
I was halfway down the road toward the marina when my brain registered something wrong before I consciously saw it.
Light.
Not the steady, contained glow of dock lights or cabin lamps. This was brighter. Erratic. Flickering in a way that didn’t belong.
I slowed, eyes narrowing, scanning past the silhouettes of masts and rigging. I still couldn’t see the source—too many boats between me and the inner slips—but my pulse kicked up anyway as I whipped into the nearest parking spot and opened the door.
As soon as I did, I smelled it. The stench of smoke rode the air like a warning.
I bolted down the dock, looking for someone, anyone, to help. The closer I got, the thicker the air became. Acrid, biting, laced with something that made the back of my throat sting.
Gasoline.
A part of me knew before I rounded the corner. The kind of knowing that didn’t come from logic or deduction, but instinct.
The Second Wind was on fire.
Flames licked up the side of the hull, hungry and bright, reflecting off the dark water in violent, distorted shapes. Smoke poured upward, thick and black, smearing the night sky.
“Madden!” The shout tore out of my chest. “Madden!”
No answer.
My heart slammed hard enough to make my vision tunnel. I scanned frantically—dock, water, neighboring boats—looking for her, for any sign she’d made it out.
Nothing.
A couple of people stumbled out of nearby boats, half-dressed, confused, drawn by the noise and the light.
“Call nine-one-one!” I yelled without slowing. “Now!”
Someone fumbled for a phone. Someone else swore.
I was already on the dock, sprinting, the heat rolling toward me in waves. I launched myself onto the Second Wind, and my boots hit the deck hard.
Brutal heat punched up through the soles, the planks hot enough that instinct screamed move before my brain finished catching up.
Flames wrapped the exterior of the cabin, crawling fast and loud, chewing through anything they could take.
The sound was enormous—roaring, crackling, a constant violent rush that swallowed everything else.
I went straight for the cabin door.
The handle didn’t move.
Not resistance. Not warped wood or swollen metal. Nothing at all.
I looked down and saw a bike chain looped through the handle and padlocked to the rail, the metal already blackened, the lock glowing dull and angry in the heat.
Someone had deliberately locked her inside.
Rage snapped through me, sharp and cold.
I reached automatically for the fire extinguisher bracket beside the door.
Empty.
Of course it was.
“Extinguisher!” I barked, turning my head and shoulders just enough to see the dock.
Something heavy came flying through the smoke a beat later. I braced and caught it against my chest. The impact knocked the air out of me as metal rang against bone. I ripped the pin free and squeezed the handle as I turned back.
White powder blasted out in a hard, forceful stream, knocking the flames down from the door and rail, buying me precious, narrow seconds. The heat eased just enough that my lungs stopped seizing.
I dropped the extinguisher and grabbed the metal boat hook from its bracket. I shoved the hook through the chain, planted my foot against the rail, and hauled sideways with everything I had. The lock shrieked, metal protesting, then failed with a sharp crack as the hasp snapped.
The chain fell away.
I yanked the door open.
The air inside punched out like a physical blow.
Heat and smoke blasted into my face, so dense it felt solid, the kind that stripped oxygen and turned every breath into a fight. The cabin wasn’t burning yet—it was baking, sealed tight, cooking from the outside in.
I dropped low and crawled inside.
Visibility was almost nothing. Smoke rolled thick and gray, the heat pressing in from every surface. My lungs burned. My head swam.
“Madden!” I shouted, though I couldn’t hear myself over the fire.
No answer.
I swept my arm out blindly, and my hand hit something soft.
Her.
She was on the floor near the kitchenette, collapsed on her side. Unmoving. Her skin was hot to the touch, her breathing shallow and uneven—smoke and heat had taken her down before the fire could finish the job.
“Fuck,” I rasped.
I didn’t waste time checking responsiveness. I hooked one arm under her shoulders, the other under her knees, and lifted.
She was limp.
Dead weight.
Her head lolled against my chest as I turned back toward the door. The fire outside roared louder, the structure of the boat protesting as flames climbed higher, heat slamming into my back like a shove.
I ran.
Across the deck, fire snapping at my legs, the planks melting the soles of my boots. I hit the edge and jumped, landing hard on the dock with a jolt that rattled my teeth.
Hands reached for her immediately.
“I’ve got her,” someone shouted.
“Clear!” I barked. “Get her clear—now!”
They moved fast, dragging her farther down the dock as I dropped to one knee, chest heaving, lungs screaming, skin burning where the heat had kissed it too long.
Behind me, the Second Wind finally gave up.
The fire breached the cabin in earnest, flames tearing through as the interior ignited, heat blasting outward and driving everyone back. The sound was violent, final.
I didn’t look.
Instead, I crawled to Madden’s side, shaking hands finding her pulse, counting shallow breaths, my entire world narrowing to one hard, undeniable truth—
Someone had tried to kill her.
And I’d gotten there in time.